


The Fate of Almyran Soldiers

by Kumikoko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Child Soldiers, M/M, Prisoner of War, Slavery, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 07:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20170294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kumikoko/pseuds/Kumikoko
Summary: As an Almyran soldier Cyril is taken prisoner by Goneril soldiers and is dehumanized.





	The Fate of Almyran Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> Like, don't get me wrong, I love Cyril. I do. I just...I feel as if some form of this actually happened to him. Like, maybe not the sexual assault...but surely, what happens more often then not, when soldiers of ANY country/alliance take prisoners, the prisoners are beaten or abused in some way shape or form and hence this story was created. Forgive me. 
> 
> I am still before the time skip. I don't know much. I haven't unlocked most of Cyril's conversations yet either. I don't know his age when he was captured, but since he's like, fifteen at the start of the game I can only imagine he was younger then that. So yeah. Child soldier. This ain't a pretty story, lol...
> 
> I do not own Fire Emblem nor any of its characters.

The Fate of Almyran soldiers

Fodlan’s Locket was alive with the clashing of swords and war cries. Duke Holst Goneril led the defense and swung his weapon. An Almyran head was lopped off and bounced onto the ground. His fellow warriors branched off to tackle the invaders from known weak points. Their movements were swift and decisive. This wasn’t the first time the Almyran’s attacked them and nor would it be the last.

The territory of Fodlan’s Locket was highly coveted territory. Everyone wanted it and they would fight to the death over it. Holst Goneril’s army had been successful in warding off the Almyran’s and today would be no different, evident by the Almyran’s who were already retreating after receiving heavy losses.

Duke Holst Goneril saw that the battle was won and called for his fellow soldiers to return to their posts. What he did not know as he returned home victorious was that a few Almyran’s had been captured by some of his soldiers. Nor would he have thought to check because taking prisoners had long been discouraged since it only raised unnecessary hostilities between the two warring factions.

A group of soldiers had captured a young and sprightly Almyran who glared at them defiantly with burnt umber eyes. His knees were pressed into the dirt while his arms were pulled behind him by the soldier who held him as prisoner. He spit at them. A boot was shoved into his face, jamming dirt into his eyes and mouth. He coughed and sputtered, tears and spit splattering onto the ground.

“Child soldiers,” A Goneril warrior muttered with disapproval as he shook his head. “What won’t the Almyran’s stoop to next?”

“Don’t know,” Another warrior responded, then grabbed a fistful of the child’s dark hair and ignored his cry of pain, “But I hear Goneril could use another laborer.”

“There’s nothing else to do with him,” The first man agreed, setting a hand against his forehead. “But I refuse to be part of breaking a child down into submission.”

“Suit yourself,” Said the man holding the boy hostage, then used his boot to push the little Almyran onto the hard ground. “We’ll break him in without a second thought because they’re all the same, no matter their age.”

“Ugh,” Muttered the first soldier, disturbed by the scene in front of him. He turned away and headed home, wanting nothing to do with beating a child into submission. “I’m out.”

Two Goneril soldiers remained on the plains of Fodlan’s Locket, surrounded by dead Almyran soldiers and fellow Goneril warriors. Their intentions were less then holy as they mercilessly began to kick and stomp on their Almyran captive who howled in pain and fear.

“You just remember we can do this to you whenever we feel like it,” A soldier, Bruce stated as he kicked the Almyran’s head with his boot clad foot. “You Almyran scum have no rights here on this side of the locket.”

“If you’re mouthy or unruly to your new masters, we’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk again.” The other soldier, Wentz said as he beat the boy with the sheath of his sword, leaving dark, swollen bruises on his body.

“Oww,” Cried the Almyran, Cyril as he clutched his head with his hands. His hands and fingers took the brunt of the beating meant for his head. He heard the crunch and snapping of his own malnourished bones and shouted louder, curling up into a tighter ball. “Stop!”

Each desperate plea was punished with another swift kick or metal sheath to his rib cage. Pain alighted every nerve in his body, making him tremble and shake. He felt firm hands grab at his sore and swollen wrists, then the ground moved underneath him.

_They’re taking me somewhere_. Cyril realized and began to kick his legs out. His accuracy was poor, for light, dust and tears marred his vision, making it blurry. He twisted and flailed, desperate to break away from his captors with no concern for the way he was hurting himself. His twists and turns against the hard ground scraped his back up while causing undue strain on his joints.

But this was life or death, and a few bloody wounds could heal. Death was permanent and he was sure he was going to be killed. As they said, Almyran’s didn’t have rights in Fodlan. Or anywhere East, North or South of Almyra. Cyril had heard stories of fellow Almyran’s being captured by the Goneril soldiers, only to never return home again.

In his mind, he was being brought to an execution location where he would then be forced to forever serve what ever god, goddess or demon the people of Fodlan served. In death, of course…

So when he was thrown into a tiny building made of huge stone blocks, he pressed himself against the cool corner, panting and heaving. But even pale from pain and fright, he glowered up at the soldiers who had beaten him. They were his enemy, and he would not submit nearly as soundlessly as they wanted him to. Yeah, he was a child, and maybe tears were flowing down his face, but more then being scared, he was angry.

Upset his parents had been lost to him, mad he was forced to become an orphan soldier of war against his will and now he was angry he had been captured by the enemy. What ever they wanted to still do to him, he wasn’t going to be quiet about it. He could still be a man, even caged and scared. That was his resolve, and resilience.

“Your bravado is remarkable for one your age,” Bruce remarked as he approached the child soldier, “But even the most stubborn Pegasus’s will can be broken.”

A chill of dread singed through Cyril’s body. He curled his legs up against his body and grit his teeth to hide the way they chattered. He had already been beaten. What more were they to do to him? Run a sword through his heart? He eyed the sheath warily as his heart rattled within his chest.

“I doubt he’ll be compliant while he has that look in his eyes,” Wentz commented, gesturing to Cyril’s eyes with a wave of his hand. “We’ll have to smack it off of him.”

“It’s done like this,” Bruce said, grabbing his sword sheath off of his hip and lifted it into the air. He saw the Almyran’s eyes widen with fear, and before he could duck away or cringe, he swung the sheath down. It collided against Cyril’s skull, making him fall forwards, collapsing onto the ground.

Dark, shaky splotches entered Cyril’s vision as he tried to scramble away from another oncoming blow. He was disoriented and felt the strength leave his arms. Vulnerable and on the verge of losing consciousness, he had no way of defending himself as the men grabbed at him, tearing his clothes away from his body.

His hips were hoisted up from the ground and as he scrabbled at the stone, he heard the distinct rustling of clothes. Another wave of dread sprung through his body. He wasn’t quite sure what was about to happen to him but fleeting images of being naked whilst being beheaded came to his frazzled, disoriented mind.

What happened next, however, was a graver fate, one he couldn’t have guessed would beset him. There wasn’t even any rhyme or reason to it, as far as he could conclude, but one minute he was clawing at the ground while in the next minute, he felt as if he was being torn open.

All he remembered how to do as white splotches consumed his vision was scream. Not that he thought screaming would make the foreign torment stop. No, yelling was a natural response to mind-numbing pain. More then that, it was completely involuntary. Just as involuntary as the tears he cried.

In his desperate haste to flee, his already short nails were worn down further, leaving thin, bloody stains on the stone. Yet no matter how loudly he screamed, he still felt the hot, bludgeoning object pummel his virgin hole. He could feel the dry friction burn his skin, and felt warm liquid trickle down his thighs.

Heavy breaths and grunts above him sounded in his ears, and moistened the back of his neck. Amongst the wet ‘squelching,’ noises that sounded every time the hardened object was pushed into him, or slid out of him was the occasional goading of the other guy. The exact words were lost on Cyril. Pain interrupted his ability to focus.

Only small snippets of conversation reached his ears.

“Dirty Almyran,” Huffed Bruce, “Your kind likes it up the ass, don’t you?”

“He swallowed you easily enough,” Wentz agreed, pressing his boot against Cyril’s neck to prevent him from lifting up. “Just like their slutty whore warrior women.”

The pain intensified with the reinvigorated thrusts, leaving Cyril tongue-tied from agony. He didn’t know why this was happening to him, nor could he really even understand what ‘this’ was. All he knew was that what ever they were doing to him hurt, and he didn’t like it, nor did he want it. But his opinion and wants had been ignored by everyone since he became an orphan.

It wasn’t like he had wanted to join the Almyran army. He hadn’t had a choice. And he definitely had no choice but to endure their cruel treatment.

A hot, salty liquid soon gushed into him, leaving him nauseous from pain. He was dropped to the ground, breathless and hurting. The boot lifted from his neck, allowing him to regain some lost breath.

But unbeknownst to him, the torture was far from over.

He was propped against the wall. Wentz blocked the sunlight coming in from the arched windows. One of his legs was hoisted over Wentz’s shoulders. He was too weak to successfully push the man away as he came closer.

Wentz pulled Cyril close to him, knocking him a bit off balance. Cyril gasped and flailed his arms out, pressing his hands to the stone. His angry glower faded to one of fear as he caught a glimpse of the smeared blood left over on his inner thighs.

Before he could wonder what the hell Bruce had done to him, his eyes widened popped open with pain as Wentz inserted his cock into his anus.

“Ahhh!” Cyril screamed, flailing weakly as his sore anus was penetrated by another hard cock. It plunged deeply into him, overstuffing him. His wrists were snatched and were held above his head. By who, he didn’t even really know because hot, fresh tears overwhelmed his vision as he was forced to endure anal sex he did not consent to.

His screams echoed off of the stone walls as Wentz repeatedly pumped his cock into his aching hole. Vulnerable and weak, Cyril could only twist and turn as his hole was pummeled by a hardened dick. There was no escape. And when the painful sex was over, Bruce raped Cyril with a wooden branch he had found outside.

As the night brightened into day, the corrupt soldiers took turns raping Cyril, with their own cocks and with objects they either had on their person, or which they found in the building. His defiant spirit was strong, but he had broken hours before the dawn rose. The brutal rapes continued even then, out of boredom and a devaluation of Almyran life. 

Only once the sun was high in the sky did the soldiers dress Cyril and drag him to the Goneril mansion where he was presented as a new servant to the other Almyran laborers. They took Cyril in as one of their own and sheltered him while he recovered fitfully from his injuries as much as they could.

The Goneril guards were unkind and were unrelenting. The more Almyran servants slacked off, the more they were whipped or beat. It was a dreaded existence, one none of them thought they could escape from, least of all Cyril.

Little did he know that he would one day be the lucky one, one who would be rescued from forced labor by a goddess.


End file.
